Caldera 5_United We Fall

by Heath Stallcup

  She shook her head and slowly came to her feet. “I need time to digest this.” She paused as she placed the wet rag down. “Does Vivian know?”

  Charles shook his head. “Not about the numbers. As far as she knows, this should work.” He narrowed his gaze. “So, we need to do everything we can to keep her thinking that way. Remember, without hope…”

  She nodded at him, disappointed that they may well have destroyed the man’s future…not to mention humanities’.

  “Jeezus, Simon. I’m on board, okay? Can I have my gun back?”

  “You can have your gun back when I feel like you’re not going to try something stupid.” Simon leaned against the door of the truck and waved his hand in the passing wind. Simon turned and gave the man a curious stare. “Hmm. Stupid.” He glanced at Sinner. “What do you think? Does that name work for him?”

  Sinner snorted. “I was thinking Stinky. Either he shit his pants when you held the shotgun on him or he’s been too long without clean drawers.” He turned and grimaced at the pair. “Either way, I think he needs to ride in back.”

  Simon shook his head. “Nope. I got the weapons, the ammo and my hooch back there. He ain’t getting near any of it.”

  Stinky waved his hand. “Wait…stop!” He pointed out the cracked windshield. “That’s the car, man. That’s the one.”

  “What car?” Sinner asked.

  “The dude looking for his family. I’m telling ya, that’s the car he took.”

  Simon turned and gave him a dirty look. “I thought you said you didn’t know where he went?”

  Stinky gave him a confused look. “I didn’t know. But I saw him jack that car about an hour after I holed up in that house.” He pointed excitedly at the car. “How many bright purple Mazdas have you seen today? I’m telling you, that’s the one.”

  Simon nodded to Sinner. “Check it out.”

  Sinner slowed the truck and drove over the median again. He pulled the truck beside the purple car and looked through the window. “Nobody home.” He turned to Simon. “Now what?”

  Simon growled as he groaned. “Check it out. Stinky here says the locals gave them a backpack with shit in it…see if it’s still in the car.”

  Sinner huffed and hopped down from the truck. He stuck his head in the driver’s window. “Nothing here but half a water bottle.” He lifted it up and held it out so Simon could see.

  The bullet thumped the bed of the truck before Sinner heard the report. He ducked low and looked over the hood of the Mazda. “Where the hell is he?”

  Simon crawled down from the opposite side and pulled Stinky down with him. “NOW can I have my gun? I’d really rather not get shot down by one of our own guys.”

  Simon glared at him but slowly pulled the pistol from his waistband. “I’m trusting you, Stinky. Don’t do nothing you’ll regret.”

  Stinky shook his head at the man then duck-crawled along the bed of the truck. He looked behind the tailgate and couldn’t see anybody. He ducked as low as he could and came up beside Sinner. “You get a bead on him?”

  Sinner narrowed his gaze. “Do you see me shooting back?”

  Simon staggered around the back of the truck and dropped the tailgate. He propped Sinner’s AR across it and bent low to peer through the scope. “Show yourself, you son of a bitch!”

  Another thump struck the side of the truck and Sinner and Stinky both ducked lower behind the Mazda. “Get down, Simon! He’ll kill you!”

  Simon snorted then took a long pull from his whisky bottle. “He’s too far away.” He stuffed the bottle back in the bed of the truck and bent low to look through the scope again. “If you ask me, he’s damned lucky to have hit the truck.”

  Simon caught movement to his left and twisted the rifle to better see what it was. The windshield of the Mazda erupted, a clean circle in the middle of the shattered glass. Simon snorted and tried to put the crosshairs on the shooter. “I hope I ain’t killing my own guy here.”

  He squeezed the trigger and had to force his eyes open again to see after the rifle’s report. He saw the shooter running away as fast as his feet would take him. He stood up and shouldered the rifle. “He’s running, boys.” Simon jumped onto the back of the tailgate and high stepped over his material belongings. “Run his ass down.”

  Sinner stared at him for a moment then slapped Stinky. “You should be in back, you smelly bastard.”

  “Bite me, asshole.” Stinky hopped into the cab and tried to spot the man running along the edge of the highway.

  Sinner pushed the old truck as hard as he dared and increased speed when he saw the man ahead. Simon whooped when the man broke right and began running through the scrub.

  He banged on the roof with the flat of his palm. “Go right! Go right!” He whooped and laughed, beating on the roof as the truck bounced off the road. “Don’t hit him too hard. He might still be useful.”

  Sinner shook his head as he pointed the truck toward the shooter. He goosed the accelerator and opened the door just as the truck was about to pass the man.

  The resounding thud sent the shooter sprawling and left a huge dent in the door of the truck. Simon guffawed as the shooter rolled over the desert hardpan and nearly fell out of the bed when Sinner brought the truck to a stop.

  “See if that goofy fucker still has a pulse.” Simon took another pull from the bottle and sat back amidst his stolen goods. “If he’s still breathing, hogtie him and toss him back here.”

  Stinky pressed two fingers to the side of his neck then nodded. “I got a pulse.”

  Simon tossed a nylon strap to him. “Tie his ass up.” He turned to Sinner and grinned. “Now lookie there. One day and we done doubled the size of our army. A few more good days of hunting and we just might be able to take the fight to them locals.”

  Sinner rolled his eyes and kicked at the shooter’s boot. “Still ain’t no army.”

  18

  Hatcher looked at the grounds and shook his head. “The housing would be awesome, but the fence? If Wally could slip through those rails, imagine what a Zulu would do.”

  Hank nodded. “Point taken.”

  “I hope that wasn’t a fat joke.” Wally muttered.

  Hank patted his arm. “You’re not fat. You’re fluffy.”

  “Up yours.” Wally opened the door and slid back in.

  Hatcher held a hand up. “I never called you fat.”

  Wally rolled his eyes. “Any other places you want to look at today?”

  Hatcher shrugged. “Things changed a lot while I was gone.” He scratched at his chin and looked to Roger. “Any ideas?”

  Roger snorted. “Dude, I’ve been in this town hours. I don’t know where anything is.”

  Hatcher sat on the tailgate and pulled the map from his back pocket. “Unfortunately, this thing doesn’t show us buildings.”

  “Why not close to the river? Just in case the water goes tits up.” Roger asked.

  “Even if the wells dried up, I don’t know that I’d trust the river for water.”

  Hank snapped his fingers. “What about a school?”

  Hatcher gave him a confused look. “To live in?”

  “Sure, why not? It has plenty of classrooms people could make into apartments. It has a playground for the kids. Candy said that we have a teacher now…”

  “What about fencing?” Roger asked.

  “Don’t all schools have at least cyclone fences?” Hank shrugged. “If not, we grab the materials and make one.”

  Hatcher shook his head slowly. “Do you know of any schools on well water?”

  Hank shrugged. “No, but we could check.”

  Wally stepped out of the truck and hiked a brow at the men. “I realize I’m too fat to really know anything, but I can tell you that the schools in this county are all on municipal water.”

  Roger leaned close to Hatcher and whispered, “I think you hurt his feelings.”

  “I didn’t call him fat!” He turned and glared at Wally. “You’re not fat, oka
y? You’re just…big.”

  Wally threw his hands up and turned back for the truck. “When you ladies figure out where you want to go, let me know. I’ll be in the truck.”

  “Somebody is crabby.” Hank kicked at the gravel by his feet. “So, you’re not keen on a school, huh?”

  “Not if there’s no well. I’m sorry Hank but we’d deplete our bottled water too quickly if we tried.” Hatcher sighed and folded the map again. He glanced at his watch then turned to look at the sun beginning its descent. “We ought to head back to the warehouse. It will be dark soon.”

  Roger stared toward the horizon as the men loaded up. “I wonder what Simon is up to right about now?”

  “Probably torturing a cat.” Hatcher grimaced. “From what you’ve told me, the guy has more than just one screw loose.”

  Roger climbed back into the truck. “Home, James.”

  “Yes, Miss Daisy.” Wally shot him a toothy grin and Roger groaned.

  “Eyes open for Zulus. With the sun setting, I’d really like to know if there are any in the area.”

  Roger turned in his seat to face him. “We could wait until dark. Surely if there are any in the area, they’d know we were here.”

  Hatcher shook his head. “No way. Even if it’s just one or two, they might be able to tell the others where we’re sniffing around. I’d rather find a place and get it secure before having to deal with them.”

  Wally put the truck into gear and pulled away slowly. “So, it sounds like the old folks’ home is probably our safest bet?”

  Hatcher nodded slowly, his mind replaying the sites they had scouted. “There’s a shit ton of access points there, but if we could secure the wall, I think it would be our best location.”

  Roger turned again and faced him. “Where would we get razor wire?”

  Hatcher’s brow furrowed. “We could get barbed wire at just about any farm supply.”

  “That’s not the same as razor wire.”

  Hatcher nodded. “We could strip it from a detention center or prison, but…” He trailed off, not liking the idea.

  Roger sighed. “I know a lot of prison have these trailers with razor wire rolls set up to be rapidly deployed.” He turned and gave Hatcher a concerned look. “But it would be a drive to get it.”

  “Then hoping that they hadn’t deployed it when people started going crazy and eating each other.” Wally added. “Maybe we could just embed steel spikes along the top or something?

  Hatcher laid his head back. “I’ll talk to Candy. She might know where we can find some that won’t cut us to ribbons retrieving it.”

  Charles continued to shiver, his teeth chattering as the fever raced through his body. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that the pain would just go away.

  Broussard checked his temperature again and shook his head. “This is not good.” He fell into the rolling chair and marked the time and temperature in Charles’ chart.

  “What’s the prognosis? Will he make it?” Carol asked.

  Broussard shrugged. “Right now, I’d say fifty-fifty.” He handed her the chart. “His temperature is remaining steady.”

  “So, he’s trying to fight the infection.”

  Broussard nodded. “It’s a double-edged sword. His body is fighting the retrovirus and if it wins, he loses. But if his body loses, then he wins.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “Oui.” Broussard stretched and yawned. He glanced at his watch, then back to Charles. “He is strong. His body will fight this until it cannot fight any longer.”

  “So, if he is able to fight off the retrovirus, could you maybe dose him again?”

  Broussard shook his head. “Non. He will have enough antibodies in his system to prevent the retrovirus from ever becoming effective.”

  “There has to be something we can do to improve his odds.”

  Broussard shook his head slowly then turned to her. “If we could slow down his ability to fight the retrovirus…it might buy the virus enough time to do its job.”

  Carol was on her feet. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Well, fever is a body’s attempt to destroy the virus. So, in theory, if we could cool him down somehow...”

  “You mean his core temperature?”

  “Correct.” He turned and gave her a mischievous smile. “We need to bring it down. We must give the virus a chance to do its thing.”

  “Acetaminophen?”

  “And ice water. We need to get him into a cold- water bath.”

  Carol tried to think of what they could use. “We’ve got showers…”

  “Do it!” Broussard was on his feet and pulling the doors open. “You two, come!” He snapped his fingers at the orderlies.

  Both men looked at each other then stiffened, refusing to listen. Carol stuck her head out of the isolation ward. “Now! We have to get him cooled off.”

  The two men rushed to the bed and began to unstrap Dr. Carpenter. “Where are we taking him?”

  “The shower. Strip him to his underwear and get us ice! Lots of ice!”

  Charles was as limp as a ragdoll in their arms. The two men carried him to the closest stateroom and began to strip him. One held him down while the other raced to the mess decks to get ice. He received a lot of funny looks but nobody questioned him as he filled a plastic bucket with crushed ice.

  He raced back to find Broussard, Carol and the other orderly trying to hold down Dr. Carpenter. He handed Broussard the ice then grabbed Charles by the legs.

  “He will surely resist once we use this.” Broussard grabbed a handful of the ice and shoved it into Charles boxers. The older man began to thrash and kick while Carol and Broussard began grabbing handfuls of the ice and rubbing his body down.

  Carol winced at the mournful scream that erupted from Charles’ throat. She fought to hold him down and continued rubbing him with the ice. “We’re going to need more!” She kicked the bucket away and the orderly ran back to refill it.

  “How long do we keep this up?” She asked.

  Broussard shrugged. “Until his temperature begins to come down.” He struggled to hold the man down, his other hand smearing ice across his chest. “We need more ice.”

  Carol glanced to the door and prayed that the orderly would hurry. “The shower is only on cold, right?”

  “Of course!” Broussard fought the man as he struggled. “Help hold him!” He glared at the orderly who was using all of his strength to keep the struggling researcher in the shower.

  “Got the ice!” The other orderly rushed in and slid to a stop at the shower. Carol scooped large handfuls of the ice and rubbed it across Charles’ forehead.

  “Come on…it’s gotta work!”

  Charles began to convulse, his eyes rolling back in his head. Broussard pulled his wallet out and tried to jam it between his teeth. “Help me!”

  Charles stiffened in the floor of the shower, his arms and legs rigid as he shook violently. Broussard reached out and pulled Carol away. “It has to run its course.” He sighed heavily and stared at Charles still shaking in the floor. “All we can do is try to keep him from hurting himself.”

  Charles suddenly sat up, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a frozen scream. He stared at nothing before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed in the shower floor.

  Broussard shook his head as he knelt beside his new friend. “Keep icing him. We have to get him cooled off.”

  Carol sniffed away tears. “Is it too late?”

  Broussard shook his head. “Non. He still breathes and his pulse is strong.” He waved to her. “Come! Help me.”

  “Dump him over there.” Simon pointed to the couch.

  Sinner dropped the shooter like a sack of wet manure. “We might have broken him.” He slapped the dirt off of his hands. “I swear, something inside this asshole was crunching as I carried him in. He may have internal damage.”

  Simon hiked a brow and sat on the ottoman, facing the man. “Tough shit for him, then. I doubt we’d find a d
octor these days.”

  Stinky pushed past the men. “I’m gonna see if there’s enough water to get cleaned up. Maybe I can dig up some clothes.”

  “Wipe that ass!” Sinner yelled behind him. Stinky turned and flipped him the bird before he kicked open the bathroom door.

  “What are we gonna do with you?” Simon leaned over the injured man.

  “Finish him off. Fucker was taking pot shots at us.”

  Simon shrugged. “Maybe.” He pushed the shooter over onto his back and stared at his face. “I can’t tell. Is he one of ours?”

  “He’s the asshole that didn’t like people.” Sinner spat as he came to his feet. “Says crowds make him nervous.”

  Simon grinned. “Three’s company. We’re not a crowd yet.” He pushed off the ottoman and stretched his back. “I need a drink.”

  Sinner turned and gave him a cock-eyed stare. “Is that all you do? Bark orders and drink whisky?”

  Simon glared back at the man. “No.” He turned and marched toward the garage. “Sometimes I drink gin.”

  Sinner took up his post at the window again. He kept an eye out as the sun began to set. Simon kicked the door open again, this time he held a bottle in each hand. “I’ve got scotch and I’ve got Vodka.” He eyed both bottles then tossed the vodka to Sinner. “I don’t trust a hooch I can see through.”

  Sinner glanced at the bottle. “This isn’t vodka. It’s straight alcohol. This shit would strip paint.”

  “Booze is booze, right?” Simon pulled the cork from the scotch with his teeth and spat it across the room. “No sense holding on to that. We know this fucker will be empty before morning.”

  “I’m glad I’m not your liver.” Sinner set the vodka on an end table and sat on the arm of the couch. He glanced to Simon then down the hall. “You trust Stinky?”

  Simon took a long pull from the scotch and winced. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Maybe because he was hiding from us? He did take off with the Cagers, man.”

  Simon shrugged again. “His illustrious leader had bailed on him. Of course, he took off with the locals.” He narrowed his gaze at Sinner. “So, did you, as I recall.”